


Illusion

by Atanih88



Series: Superbat Week 2019 [5]
Category: Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice, DC Extended Universe, Justice League (2017)
Genre: Angst, Background Relationships, M/M, Unresolved, Unresolved Emotional Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-31
Updated: 2019-07-31
Packaged: 2020-07-28 07:03:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20059966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Atanih88/pseuds/Atanih88
Summary: Written for the prompts ‘dream/nightmare’ and ‘trapped together’.





	Illusion

**Author's Note:**

> Written for superbatweek 2019 Day 7’s prompts. Late and written too quickly for my liking, I wanted to drag this out and imbue more feeling in it and maybe give it a better conclusion but I’m happy that I still got it done. Un-beta’d, apologies for all the repetition you’ll probably find ^^;

'Bruce.'

Bruce shakes his head and blinks. When he glances back up, he finds Clark filling the doorway. He's dressed in a tux, fitted, expensive, the lines of it moulding to him perfectly. Clark crosses his arms, forcing the jacket sleeves to stretch against his forearms and leans against the doorframe.

As Bruce continues to stand there without saying anything, Clark's mouth curls into a smile. His eyes crinkle at the corners and it seems to Bruce like he smiles with his whole body.

Over Clark's shoulder, the sunlight pours over the tall stalks of corn that stretch into the distance, swaying to the soft pull of the breeze. The cicadas are loud in the summer afternoon.

'Bruce?' Clark says again, tilting his head, smile fading. 'Did something happen?'

'No,' Bruce says, and then pauses because nothing happened.

Clark's fingers curl around his and Bruce jerks his head up. He hadn't heard or even sensed Clark move.

A stray dark curl falls out of Clark's neatly slicked back hair to brush against his forehead. Clark's eyes remain fixed on their twining hands.

'Are you having second thoughts?' Clark's question is just a murmur.

'I finally get you into a decent suit and you think I'm going to back out now?' Bruce tightens his grip on Clark's hand, uses it to reel Clark in until he's close. 

Clark smells good, a clean-cut scent that Bruce wants to fill his lungs with. Bruce thinks he could exist on that alone.

Clark is still looking down at their hands but Bruce sees the smile that rounds out his cheeks, hears how it fills Clark's words. 'Now, Bruce. It's a tux. Not a suit.'

And that's something Bruce hears the echo of, the teasing an affectionate mocking of Bruce's past admonitions. It's familiar, feels right. Because this is them. They do this all the time.

'So you ready?' Clark thumbs the ring on Bruce's ring finger, turning the simple silver band. Bruce stares at it, surprised by the sight of it, the weight of it on his finger, even though he knows it's been there a long time. 'Alfred's been telling anyone who will listen that he was sure he'd never see this day.' Clark laughs and it's a gorgeous sound that belongs to the summer day waiting for them outside.

Because they're—today they're—

Bruce glances up and this time Clark is looking right at him, a soft happiness turning him from God to human.

'What is it?' Clark asks.

The fit of Bruce's tux feels too tight just then. Bruce shakes his head and steps back, turning his face away from Clark's warm gaze, from the proximity that's familiar but feels alien all at once.

'I don't know. What are we doing, Clark?' Bruce frowns as he says it and as the words leave him, he feels something shift to sit between them, immovable.

The contentment that had softened Clark's mouth and his gaze disappears completely. Something flickers over his expression and Bruce sees the struggle, as if something's occurring to Clark that he doesn't want to consider.

'Don't.' Clark glances away and a muscle ticks in his cheek.

Outside a gust of wind sweeps over the corn leaves and the loud whisper of it fills the house and plugs Bruce's ears. It stops as suddenly as it arrives and the sun is gone. The sky outside deepens and a pale green radiates over it, throwing the crops into shadow.

Bruce starts towards the door.

'Clark.' He jerks his chin at the outside.

For a second Clark doesn't look away from Bruce and something breaks in his expression. He closes his eyes and for a second there, it really does seem like he's made of stone. And then it's as if he deflates, his shoulder sloping, mouth tensing, making the cleft in his chin stand out.

Slowly, Clark turns. The green light halos around Clark's profile.

'We're meant to be getting married,' Clark says, and it feels as if he's talking to the green light, 'you're wearing my ring.'

And that tugs at Bruce and he moves, touches his hand to Clark's shoulder and sliding it up the curve of Clark's neck. He cups Clark's chin with his other hand and turns him to face Bruce once more.

'It's not just me,' Bruce says, 'something isn't right.' Bruce feels the grind of Clark's teeth through his touch on Clark's face. 'Clark.'

Clark tugs his face away from Bruce's grasp. 'Just for once…' he sighs and shakes his head. 'There's something good here, Bruce.'

Bruce feels it. He feels it too. 

There is something good here, here with Clark in this way. Except—except Bruce can't remember how they got here. The contentment that Bruce had felt when he'd seen Clark standing at the door, looking at him with an expression that feels right but that Bruce can't remember ever being the cause of.

Clark stares out at the field and the colour green deepens. It turns Clark's skin a sickly pale.

Bruce looks down at the band on his finger and rubs his thumb over it.

He doesn't know what this is. 

How long have they been here?

'This isn't real. Is it?' Clark says. It's not really a question and he stays turned away from Bruce.

'I don't think it is.'

Then a name flares bright in Bruce's mind. 'Lois,' Bruce says and Clark stills, mouth parting and dragging in air.

That expression on Clark's face, when he'd looked at Bruce just moments ago. That's who that expression is for, where Bruce has seen it. It's real. It's just not for Bruce.

Bruce manages to keep his expression neutral, puts a bit more space between them.

When he glances down at the ring again, his finger is bare.

'Bruce. Is this a dream?'

'I don't know.' He tries to think back, to before. Before Clark showed up at the door. Before Clark touched the ring on Bruce's finger. But he can't.

'This feels—so right.'

'No, only on the surface. This isn't us.'

Clark nods. 'No,' Clark says, and the word drags out, like he's feeling his way through it, 'you're right. But it feels like…a possibility. Is that what this is?'

Behind Clark, the green begins to fade. Bruce can't see the cornfield anymore. Beyond the door, all he can see is darkness.

It's hard, because something is compelling Bruce to get closer, telling him his hand should be in Clark's, that they can bring the sunlight back outside. Bruce knows that if they step through the door the cornfield will come back and there will be people waiting for them outside, ready to welcome them, ready to celebrate with them.

It's difficult to drag his eyes away from it because god, it's something Bruce has never let himself think about. It's not something he's allowed to want. And not with Clark. Not with someone who the world sees as a beacon—

'We could go out there,' Clark says.

'No. We can't. You need to remember Lois.'

'I remember Lois.' 

Bruce can hear the struggle going on behind Clark's gaze, watches as his eyebrows scrunch together and as Clark tries to pull through whatever it is that has them here, in this never-where.

Bruce swallows and forces himself to say it. 'What do you remember about her?'

Because for Clark, Lois has always been the key to everything. Lois has always brought Clark back, dragged him from the edge of abyss.

They can't rely on Bruce for this.

'Her voice,' Clark says. 'The way she says my name. I remember the way she says my name.'

The darkness is seeping into the house now, spilling over the hardwood floor. 

Clark falters and he looks lost. 'Bruce.'

Bruce smiles. 'We'll get out of this.'

Clark reaches for Bruce's hand again. 'Bruce—'

~

'Master Wayne?'

Bruce squeezes his eyes shut and twists away from the voice. 

His throat is so dry it feels like it's cracking on the inside and his entire body throbs.

'Master Wayne?'

Alfred. It's Alfred and he sounds strained, barely maintaining the composed tone. 

Bruce clears his throat. 'Alfred. Water.'

'Of course. Mr Kent?'

Bruce opens his eyes. 

Clark is on his side, hand curled in the space between them. His eyes are open and lucid and he's watching Bruce. His mouth is a thin line and he looks as if something's been torn away from him. 

He doesn't reply to Alfred.

'How long?' Bruce's voice cracks in the middle and he when he tries to swallow his mouth has nothing to offer.

'You were both trapped in the illusion for two days, Sir,' Alfred says and Bruce feels Alfred's touch to his shoulder. There's relief in the way Alfred squeezes Bruce's shoulder and gives it a gentle pat. 'Ms Prince is close by and Ms Lane and Ms Kent are sleeping. I finally persuaded them to rest. I will let Ms Prince know that it has worked. It's good to have you back, Master Wayne.'

Bruce nods and tries to swallow again and winces. It's like the inside of his throat is trying to stick together.

Illusion.

Bruce tries to track back, to remember what happened to get them to this point but his head is foggy, like he's been dosed with something and he wonders what Alfred and Diana had to do to pull them back.

A soft touch to his hand brings him back into the room and Bruce freezes.

Clark brushes soft strokes over Bruce's ring finger. A frown mars his forehead and he almost looks as if he's in pain.

Maybe it's the way his head isn't clear, but Bruce doesn't want to pull away from that soft touch. Wants to fit his fingers between Clark's and just breathe, wants to close his eyes and let himself drift and find out if stepping out of that house with Clark by his side would feel as amazing as the illusion had promised it would be.

The illusion.

Bruce draws away. He doesn't want to look at Clark right now.

Clark's hand hovers, as if he's about to reach for Bruce again so Bruce grits his teeth. His arms tremble as he plants his hands on the mattress—it's the recovery bed in the bat cave—and he pushes himself up, carefully swings his feet over the edge.

'Don't rush,' Bruce says, feels his vocal cords straining just to get the few words out, 'get some rest.'

'What about you?' And Clark sounds the same as he always does, tone deep and smooth. Except there's no emotion there.

'I'll walk it off.'

Bruce pushes to his feet, grits his teeth and locks his knees.

It was just an illusion.

Diana had apparently pulled them out. They were safe now. He'd need to debrief, find out what had been done, how they'd gone under.

But right now there's still the weight of a ghost ring on his finger and the discovery of something Bruce didn't know he'd ever wanted sitting on Bruce's chest like a rock.

Bruce hopes it fades away as quickly as the sunlight had slipped away from the most beautiful day Bruce had ever seen over a cornfield.


End file.
